Daddy stood there looking at me, a huge, heavy plastic tub filled to the brim with books, magazines, and clothes in his hands. Not looking at me β through me. His eyes reminded me of the glass ones in the faces of wax figures in museums, reflecting light instead of life. Looking, but not seeing.… Continue reading [daughter chronicles] Slice 4: Living with Vascular Dementia when you don’t have it.
"And all of a sudden, cold air ran straight up my crotch. My pants had fell to the ground, belt and all!" Daddy slapped his titanium-replaced knee and hooted his amusement as family members around his straight-backed chair cracked up. I belly-laughed. He wasn't lying. Me, him, and Mama, rushing up to the front doors… Continue reading [daughter chronicles] Slice 3: Living with Vascular Dementia when you don’t have it.
Manuscript. Head. Drawer. 